A Long Looked for Promise
by Rosa Cotton
Summary: With the first winter frost approaching, and the princess’s promise to send Mary a red petticoat still unfulfilled, her son has grown more troubled. Yet is it only the petticoat he is so concerned about? Post PatG.


Disclaimer: _The Princess and the Goblin_, all characters, places, and related terms belong to George MacDonald.

* * *

A Long Looked-for Promise

Mary stands in the doorway of the hut as she watches her husband, Peter, and son, Curdie, leave for the mines this morning. A light frown of concern settles over her face after they have paused to give her a final wave before disappearing up the mountain. She gazes into space for a long moment before retiring inside and shuts the door on the chilling morning air.

They are in the heart of autumn. The trees' leaves have long lost their colorful bloom and now fall to the ground, brown and dry. The wild flowers are wilting, and the grass no longer looks like a sea of green. The wind that whips about the mountain and down into the valley warns that winter is chasing it on its heels. Not much longer now until the first frost.

Mary shivers and adds a few sticks to the fire. She wraps her shawl more tightly about her trembling shoulders. Instead of starting on her chores as she usually does after seeing Peter and Curdie off each morning, she moves a stool a little closer to the fire and sits down, her thoughts on her son.

It has been several months since the king and Princess Irene left for their castle. The woman can remember the crowd – miners and members of the royal household – on the mountain, safe from the waters flooding the farm below. It had been her own Curdie who identified the danger and requested the king and everyone to make for higher ground. He and her beloved Peter had carried her to safety when the floodwaters caught up to them. The horses had been rescued from the stable and the death of the goblins reported. Then the king, with his daughter, and his company had set off. The miners had cheered their king as he departed. It had been Curdie who stood watch the longest, gazing after them long after the company had vanished into the distance.

Mary smiles softly as she thinks of the charming child who had given her a final kiss and hug before settling into her papa's arms on his horse, along with the promise to send her a red petticoat.

During the first month after, every day Curdie returned with his father, he eagerly asked if a package had arrived for her. Each day Mary had shook her head with a small smile. They had to be patient, she told her son. After that the boy no longer asked; he saw the negative answer in her face each day he came home.

The answer has not changed.

Two months later, one evening during supper, Peter had begun to comment it was strange that no package had yet come. Surely a royal promise would not be broken. Mary had quickly hushed him. She had faith in the little princess. Their lord the king had many pressing matters more important than petticoats, she had said, that he had not yet been able to help his daughter find one yet. Her husband had huffed, far from satisfied with this explanation but, after a glance at their silent son, let the matter be.

Mary knows her husband's words troubled Curdie – and herself. She holds the king and princess in great esteem. The child would do all she could to keep her word, Mary is sure. And she feels the king would indeed care as much about a red petticoat as he would about his army. He is a good man. Then why the delay? The woman does not have the answer; she will simply have faith and wait.

And there is her dear Curdie. He has not spoken much about the petticoat, though Mary knows he thinks about it often. Several times since it has begun to turn particularly cool, he has sighed quietly to her, "If only you had a petticoat to help keep you warm, Mother." With a soft kiss she assured him, "In time." Her concern grew as she saw her son's hazel eyes begin to cloud, a blanket of trouble settle on his shoulders as the days went on. He still worked as hard as ever in the mines, was not lazy, did not complain; but there was a change in him.

Her friends whispered to her how, while he still took part in the children's games, he was more thoughtful than usual. Several girls claimed he shunned them when they attempted to flirt with him. And some of his friends said he would gaze down at the crumbling farm for varying lengths of time. Mary had been able to only thank her friends for their concern and try to put them at ease. As for her, her concern did not vanish; and a suspicion she had kept at the back of her mind now grew.

When asked what he wished for his thirteenth birthday, Curdie had said, with a sad smile, a red petticoat. His birthday passed without the desired gift.

Peter and Mary had discussed if they should probe Curdie about what was troubling him, for he had confided in no one; they choose reluctantly not to do so, sensing their son would share his thoughts in his own time.

Nodding slowly to herself, Mary adds another log to the fire, now turning her mind to her surprise on discovering her son already up and dressed when she woke up before dawn this morning.

* * *

"Winter will be here soon," the boy whispers as he kneels before the hearth, starting a fire.

Mary's eyes blink rapidly as the room fills with a warm glow as a flame leaps to life, adjusting to the light. She notices Curdie has restocked the woodpile. Covering a yawn, she nods. "Aye," she agrees softly.

She slowly lowers herself onto one of the stools near the fire; she extends her hands toward the heat, rubbing them together occasionally. Curdie remains kneeling, staring at the flames. The fire makes roses appear in his cheeks, his eyes flash the firelight, and his dark hair becomes tinged with gold.

"I did not expect you to be awake, dear," she adds.

The boy sighs heavily and bows his head. "I could not sleep much. I went out and chopped more wood."

Mary regards her son thoughtfully. Since his birthday Curdie seems to have become more troubled. She has seen her son search the path leading up into the mountain for sign of a messenger. Wordlessly he has fingered her worn shawls, his eyes full of concern. Unconsciously the woman shivers.

"Will your shawls help you be warm during the winter?" Curdie asks, turning to her, noticing her shiver.

"Of course. They have served me well. We have had many harsh winters before when I did not have a petticoat. You must not worry so," she answers, leaning towards him a little.

The boy holds her gaze for a moment before looking away. "I do not want you to fall ill." There is a short pause. "It should have come, Mother. Irene promised to send you one, a red one," he says in a low voice that wavers.

"I know."

"Why do you suppose it has not come?"

"I do not know. I am sure there is a reasonable explanation."

"But, you don't think…," unable to find words, Curdie faces her once more. The undisguised fear and worry in his eyes, the tightness of his lips, and slight trembling of his jaw causes Mary to catch her breath. For a brief moment she is carried back to when she sat before the fire with the sleeping princess in her arms and Curdie came in, grieved and fearful, not knowing if the child was safe.

Reading his current fearful wonderings in his face, his mother holds out a hand to him. Quickly he moves to her welcoming side, resting his head in her lap, a shudder shaking his frame. For a time Mary gently runs her fingers through her son's hair, swallowing around the lump in her throat as her eyes begin to burn.

Finally she speaks, "I cannot say. Yet I am sure we would have heard of such…tidings, Curdie."

"But what if something has happened…?" his voice cracks.

His mother can only kiss his brow.

* * *

Mary brushes away a tear that threatens to run down her cheek, drawing in a shaky breath. She had not been unable to completely put her son's fears to rest, for she had wondered the same thing once or twice. She told him they can only have faith that all is well with the king and his daughter.

And following the advice she gave Curdie, Mary folds her hands and bows her head, saying a prayer for the little princess who means so much to her son.

THE END


End file.
